


to carry

by yolks



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Face-Fucking, Light Angst, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27346141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yolks/pseuds/yolks
Summary: In the face of death, don't die.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Kudos: 20





	to carry

When Ashe comes back home bloodied, Sylvain futilely wishes for this to stop. He had figured it’s okay if he can’t see anything. 

Red pools around the gash on Ashe’s left thigh, fabric ripped and soaked. Red drips down his hands and fingers, imprints left on the curve on his bow. Red over his busted lower lip. Hole on the right shoulder. Red there, too. Different shades of them, different pains. 

No – it was never okay.

In three long strides, Sylvain crosses the small space of the cabin (theirs for now) and gently grips the sides of Ashe’s arms. He’s breathing slow, eyes glazed over. “Hey. Hi.” Sylvain smiles, a flash of something, and squeezes. Ashe blinks. “Can you hear me?” 

Ashe’s gaze refocuses, landing somewhere on Sylvain’s face. “You sound a little far away.” 

“I’m right here. Let’s get you somewhere comfortable.” It’s a minute before midnight. Somehow, Ashe came out of this one worse than when he’d return at dawn. He's never gotten hurt like this before. A quick escape, maybe? Was it an ambush? That would mean the possibility of pursuers, but Ashe didn’t show any signs of urgency. It's most likely safe for them to stay. Sylvain sits him down. 

“Water,” Ashe says. His voice is – he sounds fine, like nothing happened. How many, tonight? What went on? Sylvain’s already in the kitchen, already filling up the glass, already bringing it over. When Ashe drinks, the mouth of the glass turns red; the water is tinged with pink. 

“Don’t pass out on me, and don’t lie down.” Sylvain snatches the first aid kit from the shelf by the grandfather clock. 

“I won’t.” 

He knew this would come. It’s unavoidable. Death is always near Ashe. It used to be near Sylvain, too. Death has –

He moves quickly, almost desperately, to get some towels and rags.

Having collected everything he needs, Sylvain kneels and carefully peels Ashe’s pants off to expose the wound. “Still with me?” He collects stray strands of sweaty hair stuck on Ashe’s forehead and pushes them away, raking his eyes over Ashe. He won’t die. The wounds aren’t light, but he won’t die.

“Just tired,” Ashe mumbles.

“An understatement, wouldn’t you say, babe?” 

Everything else that Sylvain does next is autopilot, days from the coven tending to Ingrid’s wounds resurfacing. Sworn friends, at least back then. 

A soft hiss. “Ah, that one stung.” Ashe’s eyes are closed, brows furrowed ever so slightly. If it's pain he follows, it’s pain he gets. Felix’s words. Sylvain wonders, fleeting and dangerous, has Ashe ever come across them? Was that what happened tonight? They wouldn’t recognize each other. They wouldn’t hesitate. Does hesitation make a difference when killing someone? 

“You,” Sylvain says, watching the stubborn blood finally lift off Ashe’s skin, “are something else, you know that?”

Ashe is silent. 

“You were waiting for this, I bet.” Sylvain keeps a light tone. “I’ll get myself into trouble so Sylvain can clean me up, and tend to me, and worry about me endlessly, and make me porridge…”

“Sylvain…”

“I know, I know. Let me have this, Ashe. God, how’d you not bleed out from that shoulder wound?”

A hand goes under Sylvain’s hair, scratching at the scalp lightly, then slides down to his nape, warm over cool skin. It feels like an apology. “Can I be honest?” Ashe’s voice is quiet. Sylvain bends Ashe’s knee to wrap the gauze around the wound. “I didn’t think I’d make it. I never let it cross my mind, but tonight, for the first time, I thought: this is it. I’m done.” Ashe winces; something in his shoulder smarts. Sylvain can never truly get used to the features of his face scrunched in pain, the kind that’s pure and bad. Ashe threads his fingers through Sylvain’s hair, over and over. 

Sylvain wants to kiss him until they fuse. He has faith in Ashe’s abilities, in his deftness with the bow. He's seen knives seemingly shoot directly out of Ashe's hands. He's seen the way Ashe darts around like he doesn’t think about it. He's seen him among assailants, Achilles with a bow – (“Achilles would’ve survived with a bow,” Ashe had once said. Sylvain shrugged. “I don’t know about that, Ashe.”) – but faith doesn’t make it any easier to let him walk out that door alone. Faith doesn’t make it any easier to wait. With coven members on the loose, still looking for justice, still looking for some semblance of peace through violence, there’s nothing Sylvain can do but stay put. Stay low. Pour all his trust into Ashe. Ashe is a fighter enough for the two of them, and then some. The thought does little for comfort. 

The exhaustion from the day finally catches up to Sylvain, and he takes Ashe’s hand to bring it to his lips. He breathes in metal, dirt, skin. He has a thousand words but doesn’t say them. Ashe’s eyes stay on him, warm and lidded, as the clock ticks away.

“How bad did it hurt?” Sylvain can’t help the question, murmured into Ashe’s blood-stained knuckles. His voice cracks; five years ago he would hate it, but he’s left behind that childish fear of vulnerability long ago. He leaves a kiss there, then prepares to clean the wound on Ashe’s shoulder.

Ashe cups the side of his face, his chin, stopping him. “You’ve got blood on your mouth.”

Sylvain grins. “Kiss it off.” 

“I’d just get more blood on it.” Ashe returns it with a smile, soft. His palm ghosts over the hole on his shoulder. “The pain here is new,” he says. “It’s nothing like I’ve felt before. But it could’ve been much worse.” 

It could’ve been much worse. Maybe that’s how Sylvain hasn’t gone completely insane. 

Five years ago, Ingrid and Felix could’ve fallen. Ashe could’ve shot Sylvain in the chest. Sylvain could've gone against his heart and left with Ingrid.

He soaks the towel in a bowl of clean water and wills the memories away, at least for now. “Let’s get your shoulder fixed up.” 

Dawn comes with a dose of panic that yanks Sylvain from sleep. 

_Ashe?_

He feels around for him, but finds that he doesn’t have to. Next to him, Ashe is sleep-warm, breathing deep, head turned away. Sylvain’s heart slows as quick as it had rose. 

_Here._

The space between Ashe’s brows is creased. He must be dreaming. Sylvain settles back into place, exhaling slowly. As if to make sure, he presses a kiss to Ashe’s jaw, then presses his nose into Ashe’s hair. He runs his fingers across the bandage on Ashe’s shoulder and reminds himself, for the hundredth day in a row, that this is real – the safe, the dangerous, the pauses in between. 

Later, Sylvain finds Ashe peeling fruit in the kitchen. The room gently stings of oranges.

“Whoa – hello there.” Ashe jolts when Sylvain comes up behind him to wrap his arms around Ashe’s waist. Careful not to put pressure on the injury, Sylvain buries his face in the crook where Ashe's neck meets his shoulder. He ghosts his lips over the skin, feels Ashe shiver. 

In moments like these (when the sun is soft; when the inside and the outside are as quiet and still as they can be; when their hearts are loose and steady; there’s groceries to be bought; somebody remembers a joke from the past; breakfast or lunch or dinner on the brain; the smell of wood drifting in the air when they move to certain rooms; talks of a new house on the foot of a hill), he can revel, soak, and drink in all he wants. He can indulge. There’s only today if there’s a promise of certain doom. He struggled with that thought, once. 

“I just remembered about these oranges we bought last week. Want one?” Ashe pulls off a piece and offers it to Sylvain, who takes it between his lips. 

“Mm. Good.”

Ashe's face wrinkles in disgust when Sylvain leans in, dry lips puckered for a kiss – “Nooo, no, no, not until you brush your teeth…” – but Sylvain manages to plant one on his forehead before strolling away to freshen up.

When he returns, Ashe is on the sofa enjoying the fruits, sitting in the exact same place Sylvain bandaged him up last night. Sylvain watches, leant against the doorway.

“How’s your wounds?” he asks. 

Ashe turns to Sylvain, green eyes darkened by the sun directly behind him. “Come sit.”

Sylvain walks over and helps himself to an orange slice. Ashe is using the fish-shaped plate Sylvain got him as a gift for his last birthday. 

He has agreed not to fight while he heals. This comes with the risk of coven members sniffing them out, but it wouldn’t happen immediately. As far as Sylvain knows, they're low in numbers; Ashe has done the work cleaning up the area for the past few months. It’d take some time for them to reconvene. They won't – 

“It feels about the same as yesterday,” Ashe says. “I’ll sorely miss morning yoga.” 

Sylvain takes another slice and eats it. The burst of sour-sweetness stops his mind from racing. “I’ll miss watching you do it.”

Ashe turns red, saving pieces for Sylvain and taking the remaining few. “Of course you will.”

They eat, and chat, and kiss, lips and fingers sticking to the other’s. Ashe is somewhat tense. He’s too clipped, too quiet. There’s nothing Sylvain can say because he doesn’t know what’s happening; he doesn’t ask him. It’ll come out when Ashe is ready. 

“Hey.” Sylvain reaches for Ashe’s hand as Ashe walks past him to go nap. Ashe looks at him, expectant. Sylvain squeezes. This is all he can do for now. “Call out if you need anything.” 

That night, when Sylvain takes Ashe into his mouth, it’s somewhat different. 

“Sylvain,” Ashe says, almost a whisper. He says it again, and then, “Stop.”

That prompts Sylvain to look up. He pulls off completely, noting Ashe’s downturned lips, his troubled gaze. 

“You’re scared,” Ashe says. “I can feel it.”

“Yeah," Sylvain breathes. "What if I nervous-puke? I’m super good at this but you never know…”

Ashe glares.

Sylvain’s smile falls from his face, and he runs a hand through his hair. He speaks carefully, but truthfully, after a beat. “You’re right. I am.”

Ashe takes his hand. His eyes swim with too many things at once.

“You’re guilty.” Sylvain rises to level with him, still on his knees, and twines their fingers together. “I can feel it.” 

“I am.”

“Don’t be,” he replies immediately. “There’s nothing – hey, look at me.” Sylvain tucks a strand of hair behind Ashe’s ear when it falls over his eyes. “I’m scared shitless. I wake up some nights looking for you. But it’s not your fault. You have nothing – _nothing_ – to be guilty about.” Sylvain gently presses a finger to Ashe’s forehead, leaning closer. “The only thing you have to do is not die.”

Tears now laze down Ashe’s cheekbones, over the smattering of freckles. Their fingers bump against one another as they both try to dry them. “I won’t.” There’s a fierceness in his watery eyes, the way they bore into Sylvain’s soul like it’s the only thing in the world. His soft voice pierces Sylvain’s heart and tucks itself in there.

“I hate seeing you cry.” Sylvain uses a thumb to wipe incoming tears. He doesn’t. He only hates it when it’s out of pain.

Ashe ducks away. “I told myself I wouldn’t.” He sniffs, contemplating something. “I’m so much more worn than I thought.”

“Do you want to sleep?” 

Ashe knocks their foreheads together, eyelids slipping shut. He kisses Sylvain. This one in particular is somewhat different. A kiss is a kiss is a confession. This one is saying _I need you more than ever._

Sylvain kisses back. _I understand._

With each tick of the clock, the kiss becomes more purposeful. Sylvain’s palms travel across Ashe’s skin; careful at first, remains of their conversation ebbing away still – then, purposeful. Ashe sighs into him, tension crawling off his shoulders. _Thank you._

“I won’t die,” Ashe promises, vows, swears, and Sylvain surges in for another kiss, hand cradling Ashe’s neck. _You won’t. You won’t. You’ll go, but you’ll come back, and you’ll be here, always._ Down Sylvain goes, to Ashe’s neck and chest – down Sylvain goes to tongue Ashe’s nipples, pulling and sucking – and then down further, open-mouthed kissing wherever he wants. Love swells inside him; behind it, something hotter follows. 

Sylvain breathes Ashe in, wrapping his lips around the tip of his cock. _I love this and you._ He sucks for a moment, revels in the taste and feeling. When he pulls off, Ashe sighs sharply, hips chasing after him. Sylvain grins at that, stroking and thumbing the tip. “My, my,” he murmurs. 

Ashe is flushed, moonlight making him darker than usual. It’s as if he’s forgotten how to feel like this, taut with anticipation, eyes burning and gleaming. Sylvain leaves momentarily to grab some body oil. Ashe watches him coat his hands with it, gaze blown. 

Sylvain tosses the bottle onto the bed behind them, then repositions himself between Ashe’s spread legs. “Someone’s eager.” 

Ashe goes in for a kiss, and another. “How could I not be?” 

Sylvain runs his hands over Ashe’s smooth torso, flicking his nipples while he’s at it. He pulls away from the kiss, then deftly presses the tip of Ashe’s cock with a finger while his other hand strokes Ashe’s lower belly. The movement is slick with oil. Ashe lets out a noise, body stuttering. 

“Feels good, huh?” Sylvain alternates jacking Ashe off and stroking his lower belly, over and over, until Ashe is a whining, leaking mess. He watches Ashe’s throat bob up and down when he swallows. Ashe’s chest heaves, breaths coming out quick. Sylvain kisses down his shaft. “I love doing this to you.” Ashe manages a weak laugh. 

Sylvain brings Ashe’s cock between his lips, his own dick straining against his sweats at the feeling of Ashe’s precome all over his mouth and tongue. _You’re perfect_. Ashe fills his mouth up all nice, stretching his jaw not unpleasantly. What he can’t reach with his throat he uses his hand. He starts a slow rhythm, all the while using his other hand to gently press against Ashe’s balls, just the way Ashe likes. Ashe sighs – “Ha,” – high and soft, jaw falling open and head falling back, and it goes straight to Sylvain’s dick, the pool of heat collecting there.

It’s the sounds. It lets Sylvain know of the wonderful ways Ashe loosens and comes undone. Sylvain listens like he’s memorizing a prayer. Ashe exhales with this sound every time Sylvain comes up to the tip: this sing-songy, breathy moan that fills Sylvain’s entire being with a fire. It says _more_. It says _yes._ He’d never tire of hearing Ashe. He’d do anything for it. The movements, too. The cant of Ashe’s hip as he tries so hard not to fuck Sylvain’s mouth says the same thing. _More, yes, please, good,_ clearer than any word. 

Ashe places a hand on Sylvain’s forehead, telling him to let go. He leans down for Sylvain’s lips and Sylvain meets him halfway. Sylvain’s mouth feels thick and full. He knows Ashe is close. 

They part, catching their breaths, and Sylvain dips down to press a kiss on Ashe’s collarbone. “You can fuck my mouth,” he says. “I know you want to. You always want to.” A kiss and another kiss. “You don’t even have to tell me when you do. I’ll always let you.” 

“I couldn’t not tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It... scares me. What if I...”

Sylvain lets out a laugh, cupping Ashe’s face with both hands. Concern and bewilderment flashes in Ashe’s gaze. “You go out there with your bow and throwing knives and kill people and is what you’re scared of?”

“You could get hurt.”

“You could never hurt me.” 

It’s those words, sealed with a kiss, that reassures Ashe. Ashe stands, still wet and leaking when Sylvain guides his cock back into his mouth. Sylvain places his hands on his lap. He looks up at Ashe as Ashe’s hand drifts to hold the back of his head, and just like that, he’s back to semi-hardness. 

No matter how many times they do this, Sylvain will always go through it like it’s their first time: the fullness, the slight discomfort, Ashe’s voice whittled down to raw noises, the slick and sultry in and out, the pricking in his nose as his eyes well up, drool spilling out and over his chin. He’s on his knees, praying to Ashe, this warrior-god losing himself in the warmth of his mouth. His warrior, his god, his lover.

Ashe’s fingers grab Sylvain’s hair for purchase. Sylvain closes his eyes and strokes himself, eyes rolling back and groaning at a particularly hard tug. The night grows and Ashe loses his rhythm little by little. His fingers scrabble for Sylvain’s neck and hair. So pretty, even like this. Even when he takes down a dozen men, letting his arrows pierce their skulls, even as he destroys Sylvain’s insides. Sylvain comes, shuddering, Ashe’s cock still in him. The night grows and, soon, Ashe follows, shooting hotness all over the walls of Sylvain’s throat and mouth, pulling Sylvain into a second release. 

All the kings and gods of the world – they couldn’t capture this. The melding of their pleasure could become a new deity. 

Ashe falls backwards onto the bed, sighing. Sylvain crawls into it, flopping onto his back, feeling the ghost of Ashe’s dick everywhere in his face. “I love you,” he pants. He reaches blindly for Ashe’s wrist.

“You didn’t touch yourself the second time,” Ashe says, amazed.

Sylvain stretches and tucks a hand behind his head. The ceiling swims. “What can I say…” He trails off, head emptied of quips. 

Outside, the night clouds drift, slow and effortless. Sylvain’s lids grow heavy by how warm Ashe feels beside him. 

“Are you still scared?” 

He almost doesn’t hear Ashe. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.” He feels Ashe brush his cheekbone, his jawline. 

“I’ll keep fighting.” When Sylvain opens his eyes, Ashe is watching him, waiting. His deadly wonder, his rock. “But I’ll always be back.”

Sylvain kisses his fingertips one by one by one. An offering, of sorts. “I know.” 

**Author's Note:**

> frank ocean said "my guy pretty like a girl, and he got fight stories to tell" and i was like HMM 
> 
> scorpio season is too real
> 
> edit: im rereading this and whoaa theres so much kissing


End file.
